I feel the movement of his throat beneath my mouth as he whispers back, “Nobody has ever made me feel the way you do.”
I raise my head so I can peer down at him. Raw conviction shimmers in his eyes as they study mine. He slowly raises a hand to my face, tucking loose hair behind my ear. I drop my mouth to his again, feathering my lips between his. He deepens the kiss, grasping my hip and rolling me against him, removing any semblance of space between us. I moan, and he takes advantage, slipping his tongue into my mouth, tangling it with mine. Unable to help it, I grind down harder, and when he follows it with a hiss, I swallow his sound.
“Fuck, Wills,” he nips at my lips. “Don’t make me get carried away and break Penelope’s one rule, baby.”
“What’s the rule?” I laugh into his mouth.
“Not to get naked in here.”
I snort, pulling away and sitting up, straddling his hips. “I wouldn’t take your virginity on a dirty floor like this.”
“Isn’t that kind of a rite of passage?” He lifts onto his elbows, raising a brow.
I scoff, playfully smacking his chest as I lift off him. I toss a sandwich at him, and he catches it with one hand, smirking at me as he unwraps it. “You know I’m not sentimental about that, right?” he asks, taking a bite. “I’m a virgin because I’ve never had the urge before, not because of any moral value I place upon it. I’m not like... waiting until marriage.”
I choke on a laugh, swallowing down my own bite. “I didn’t think you were. Are you saying you have urges now?”
He slows his chewing, tossing me a deadpan expression. “Willow, you made me come in my pants.”
I blush, dipping my head to hide the reaction.
“I have filthy, deplorable, nonsensical fucking urges when it comes to you, Trouble.” His hand darts out to grasp my chin, lifting my gaze to his. “I’m a mess for you.”
“What kind of urges?” I whisper.
He licks his lips, fighting a smile. “Today after training, I got off in the shower fantasizing about fucking you on a surfboard.” He leans back on his elbows, shaking his head as he stares up at the ceiling. “I’m not even sure that’s plausible. I’m certain it wouldn’t even be possible out on the water, and yet that’s exactly what I envisioned until I lost it all over the shower door.”
Heat floods my veins at his admission, and I cross my legs to ease the ache he’s created between my thighs. “I thought you didn’t see anything, or anyone, when you...”
His eyes flick to mine, smoldering blue flames. “That was before I knew you. Now, Willow? I know what your skin feels like, what your mouth tastes like, what you soundlike when you’re coming. I don’t imagine I’ll see anything but you ever again.”
“Fuck,” I mutter. “Remind me again why we’re taking things so slow?”
This man is driving me mad.
He tosses me an amused smile. “Because we’ve both been through a lot, and I’m terrified of fucking it up.” Weston’s face softens as he continues. “I know the last time for you was... I don’t want to risk... I just want to make sure you’re ready too.”
I nod. Frustrating as it is, he’s right. We both need to be absolutely ready to take that step, because I don’t want to risk screwing us up either. “How about I tell you when I feel ready, and if it’s before you do, I’ll wait until you’re ready too?”
“That sounds like a plan, Trouble.” He grins, sitting up to take my face between his hands before pressing his lips to mine. “Now eat your food so we can get to painting those canvases.”
“Oh...” I laugh, bringing my sandwich to my mouth. “We’re not using those canvases, I have a much better use for all that paint.”
He tilts his head, confusion overtaking his features. I flash him a mischievous smile.
“So... do Iget to paint your body too?”
“Yes, when I’m finished,” I chime. “Now roll over like I told you to.”
Weston exhales a resigned sigh, tossing his shirt to the side before lying face down on the blanket. We traded our food for art supplies, and I hold a palette in one hand and a brush in the other as I straddle his hips.
“I’ve always wanted to do this,” I say, swiping the brush through the blue dollop of paint on my palette.
I saw the trend—painting someone’s bare back—online years ago, but Parker refused to try it with me. When I asked Weston if he would take his shirt off and let me paint his skin instead of the canvas he brought, he didn’t even question it.
Inspired by Penelope’s presentation earlier, I use an angle brush to begin crafting small squares starting at Weston’s hip and working up toward his spine.
“I got some news today.” I smile, swirling blue and green to create a new shade.
